Stopping the Screams
by Trying To Try My Best
Summary: Memories of the dead on the Armada are surfacing again and Spain starts to break down. Can anyone stop him from hearing the screams of those that he lost on those dreaded days?
He could feel it happening. His insides twisting, curling, tightening painfully forcing tears to his eyes and small wordless gasps for help to his throat, each soft noise tumbling out of numbed lips and falling on uncaring deaf ears that belonged to the suddenly bleak and bland white walls of his house, despite it's crafty echo. Or, at least, that's what he thought it would have sounded like if that stinging and ringing in his ears would just _go away,_ let him breath, let his head stop slamming against his skull, his heart stop pounding and being the only thing that he could hear loud and clear like a dreaded American war drum, steadily aiding the pain and feeling of helplessness drive him into insanity-!

The once great Spanish empire, defeated by a mere memory. Lying on the floor of his small house, tears of pain trailing down his cheeks while he choked on his own pitiful sobs.

The sound of his dying men echoed in his ears despite he himself not being anywhere near that point in time anymore. It burned. The memory of his language of passion thick with desperation and coated heavily with fear and pain made his heart clench and stutter in his chest. That damned English Empire, that damned Francis Drake! If only they hadn't done anything. If only King Phillip II didn't fall for Elizabeth's charm. If only Mary hadn't died!

So many... Spain curled in on himself, suddenly feeling too exposed in his empty home. So many people on his precious Armada had died because of them. For those four (five if you include that bastard, England, but Spain honestly couldn't handle thinking about him right now) people, three quarters of his men were killed and half of his ships took their claim on the ocean floor.

His breathing got heavier and his chest felt as if it was caving in on itself. Mio Dio, it hurt to think of it, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt-

The sound of his front door slammed against the wall to his entrance hall. "Oh, Spain~! Kesese~! The awesome me was feeling bored so I decided to grace you with my presence!" Thick and heavy thumps of worn down military boots hitting the hard wood floors echoed, steadily getting closer.

Spain tried to pick himself up and failed, falling back to the floor with a pained gasp. A new batch of tears sprung to his chartreuse colored hues and faintly, it almost felt like he was a squeaky toy, every time life would grip him with harsh pains and threw him around with the memories of his once living children a new set of squeaks and cries would unwillingly fall from his mouth.

The footsteps stopped. "Spain? Come on man, answer me! Are you okay?"

 _"No!"_ Spain wanted to cry. _"I'm not okay! I can't breath, everything hurts, and, oh Dio mio, I really really need the screams to stop!"_ But instead, he whimpered like a kicked puppy.

One of his most trusted friends. Spain doesn't even care how pathetic he looked. He trusted Prussia with his life and this wouldn't be the first time his amigo would see him in a broken puddle of tears.

The screams and noises of the ones that died on the ships got louder the more he thought. Spain cried out loudly and covered his ears, curling up again and starting to recite prayers in his Spanish tongue for the pain to just stop.

Suddenly he was being picked up and held against a dark navy blue suit. The smell of gunpowder and German beer flooded his senses, the familiarity making his muscles forcibly relax. _Safe_ , his mind whispered, _This is safe._

There was a rough and harsh hand petting gently at his brown untamed locks making a drunken awkward contrast that made Spain feel more stable knowing that yes, this was Prussia, not some hallucination that came to mock him.

Gently, the world rocked back and forth. Spain clung to the button up suit in front of him and took ragged gasping breaths. A rough but soothing voice whispered hushed calming phrases in Prussian. It's scratchy string of words and phrases calming his frazzled nerves and only an hour or so later, Spain stopped panicking as severely and just lied in Prussia's arms, limp and tired.

Prussia gently cooped him up and started a trek to the bedroom. "You'll be okay, Liebchen.. It's okay." The albino cooed softly, sounding almost mocking with the resistance his natural tone had to being sweet. He easily closed the bedroom door with Spain still in his pale arms (probably remembering how Spain gets comforted in enclosed spaces). "You want to take a nap, ja..?"

Spain nodded tiredly while Prussia placed him on the bed. He lied there drifting in and out of sleep for a few moments, the only sound in the room being laces being removed from knots and ties, shoes being kicked off, a belt being undone, and the metal clasp clanking against the floor. Opening his blurry eyes, Spain watched as Prussia stripped to a more comfortable amount of clothes before joining him in the bed.

They shifted and pulled each other close. Prussia wrapped his arm around Spain and pulled him to his chest while Spain grabbed the side of his shirt and scooted close enough to rest his head on his friend's muscled chest.

Finding the lullaby of Prussia's heart to be a perfect tune, Spain closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

"Gute Nacht, mein Liebling."


End file.
